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i would like a hug…. JUST KIDDING! i would like TWO hugs. (suddenly becomes cold and standoffish) i don’t need anything or anyone and i don’t want to talk about it.
Synopsis: When you show your friend and fellow scientist Jayce an aphrodisiac you’ve been developing but have not yet been cleared to test on humans, he jumps at the opportunity of being your lab rat. Off the record, of course.
Tags: sex pollen/aphrodisiac, modern AU (sort of), pathetic Jayce, begging, cum eating, premature orgasm, multiple orgasms, sub Jayce, blowjob (Jayce receiving), no mention of reader anatomy, dacryphilia, overstimulation
Word count: 6.5k
“Wow. And it has the same effect on higher mammals?”
Jayce Talis — engineering department, an absolute joy to converse with, one of the few fellow Piltover academy scientists you’d consider a genuine friend of yours, and annoyingly attractive — watches with a surprised scratch on his stubbled chin as the two hairless mice begin what must be their fifth consecutive copulation. He usually comes over for the occasional brainstorming session, and right now, he’s stumbled into one of your… more touchy works in progress.
“Hard to say what the effect would be on educabilia — we’re a little more complex than rodents, after all.” You click your pen. “The main effect on my mice is fairly consistent, it awakens sexual appetite even in older, infertile subjects.”
“Cool, cool,” Jayce says, even though you doubt that’s the word he’s exactly reaching for. You might have preferred Viktor as a conversation partner for this — much less reluctance around taboo Piltie subjects. But there is some fun to be had watching Jayce stumble over his words as you await more. He sticks both hands in his pockets, a terrible attempt at nonchalance. “What could be the use for humans? Something sort of like, viagra, I’m guessing?”
“Among other things. If it works the same way as it does on mice, which remains to be seen, it could also be a fertility treatment, or maybe even a mood regulator in small doses.”
“Oh, neat.” Jayce swallows awkwardly. “And… by when do you think you could get cleared for human experimentation? A year?”
“A year? That’s cute, Jayce,” you smile dryly. “Maybe you engineers can get through experimental testing that fast. But no. For something like this, probably multiple years at best. The experimentation on mice needs to be thorough before I can even dream of testing it on humans.”
“Gotcha.” Jayce clears his throat. “And, uh, have you…” he lowers his voice a little. “Have you considered, um… testing it on yourself? You know…“ he mouths the following words, “off the record?”
He hasn’t learned one bit from the day his apartment got blown up years ago, it seems.
“I have, but I’d need at least one other person to be down to try it with me, as a… control group, sort of.”
“Oh, right.” Jayce stands back up straight. “Right, of course. I should have— yeah, I should have thought of that. And do you… have anyone in mind? For that?”
“No, I don’t have an illegal project buddy in mind.” You can’t help but snort a laugh. “You’re making it sound like you’d like it to be you, though.”
That catches him off guard, he takes a second to gulp his fear down before he finally really looks at you.
“I mean, if… maybe.” He looks around as if to reassure himself that the lab is empty, when he damn well knows it is, before he leans against the table to seem dejected, and shrugs. “If you wouldn’t find it weird, then, why not?”
“Me? You’re forgetting who discussed sexcapades with Viktor at the academy winter solstice potluck while someone else was sitting in a corner and blushing, Jayce. I’m not the prude here.”
“I’m— who says I’m a prude?”
“Viktor, for starters.”
“Right. Well, if Viktor’s the ideal candidate for this—”
“Not what I said,” you interrupt. When just the hint of a smile tugs at his lip, you can’t help your own.
“You insinuated it.”
“Are you jealous, Jayce Talis?”
“Wh- me? No.” Jayce clears his throat and stands up off the edge of the table. “It’s just, you’ve helped me with so much of my work, and, I, uh, I wanna help you, too.”
“Well, I helped you bounce around ideas. Meanwhile this would be you potentially putting your health in jeopardy for a curiosity. You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m happy to help a friend,” he counters, and the truth of it stings like salt in an old wound. Just barely. A friend. “Plus, I’ll remind you that this isn’t my first time with an illegal experiment.”
“Alright. Six PM, this Friday, my lab?”
—
It’s six PM sharp on Friday when there’s a knock at your door.
“Hi,” Jayce blurts after you open for him. You step aside and motion for him to enter, but there’s something that tugs at him, keeps him still, before he lowers his voice and asks. “Is your assistant still…?”
Of course. For someone eager to throw himself in the face of danger, he finds it within himself quite often to hesitate once things have been set into motion. Viktor had warned you of that.
“No, they left half an hour ago.”
“Cool. So did, uh, most of the scientists on our floor, as far as I can tell.”
It’s sweet, how he tries for something more casual, before… well, before what’s going to ensue. You figure you’ll indulge, he certainly looks like he needs it.
“Mm. Everyone hates burning the midnight oil in the late winter months, don’t they?”
At your attempt of light conversion, Jayce slackens a little, and steps in with renewed courage. Which lasts about until he notices the fact that you’ve already set up everything.
”I’d like to monitor your heart rate, BP and oxygenation levels. Ideally, I’d also love to take a blood sample from you both before and after the experiment. Are you alright with that?”
“Byeah, sure, why not?”
And you can’t help a chuckle at the way his voice goes a little airy.
“Not a big fan of needles?” You tease, before you gesture for him to sit.
“Who is?”
Jayce does, surprisingly obedient, and begins to roll up his sleeve before you can think to ask for it. Fortunately, finding a suitable vein won’t be an issue: plenty to choose from on his well built arms. You place a tight strap just above his bicep, and pull it nice and snug. That should do.
His skin’s swabbed clean with rubbing alcohol, and as you get the needle ready, you can’t help but notice a slight tremor in his shoulders, the way he fixates on the silver glistening little thing.
“Jayce.”
“Mm?”
“It’s just a pinch. Close your eyes or look away, please. I’ve done this plenty of times, including on myself. I’ll be quick.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Breathe in for me.”
And it’s about when his lungs are half full that you slide the needle into his skin, and Jayce winces, brows pinching, as blood begins to trickle from his arm into the vial.
“Doing great,” you assure him. “Great vascularization, by the way. Made my job real easy.”
“Glad that’s useful for something,” he grits out. His eyes are closed, his head tilted to the ceiling, lovely jaw clenched. “How much longer?”
“About five more seconds. Breathe out for me.”
There is something a little… intoxicating about Jayce Talis sitting before you with his teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut, bearing the pain for your sake, and doing exactly as you say, down to breathing. There always was a certain eagerness about him that made you guess he’d be like this in more vulnerable contexts especially — and so far, it seems your guess had been well placed.
He’s a little pale by the time you’re done, but it’s nothing a tall glass of water won’t fix. You fetch him that first, before you store the vial with his blood next to yours, marking it with a different symbol.
While he settles, you might as well get through more of the basics.
“Any conditions, afflictions or injuries I should know of? Nothing’s too small to mention.”
“I, uh,” Jayce draws a shaky breath once he’s set the glass down on your table, and ponders for a moment. “I’m near-sighted, but I wear contacts. What else… I grind my teeth when I sleep, and something’s definitely wrong with my jaw. It makes this clicking noise when I chew sometimes. Oh! And I tore a muscle in my back like, two years ago. That’s about all I can think of.”
“Alright, do you take any medications?”
“No.”
“Sweet.” You jot most of what he’s said down on an unnamed chart, to be safe. “That should about cover it. If we weren’t doing this off the record, I would have dragged you through a bunch more tests, but, we’ll work with what we’ve got. I’m glad you offered to do this for me, Jayce. Really. Thank you.”
“Of course,” he says, like it’s an average Friday evening activity to let you experiment on him.
“Now, this should be a double blind experiment, especially since I, as the researcher, am actively partaking as a subject as well. I’ll prepare two glasses of sugar water, add in the active ingredient in only one of them, and then you’ll be switching the glasses around while I’m not looking. That’s about the best and only way I can think of to keep my results from being skewed, other than… all the other unavoidable factors.”
Jayce looks like he’s hardly been following — there’s something distant in his eyes, jaw slackened ever so slightly until you approach with both glasses, and he snaps out of it with a gulp.
“Sorry, so, I’ll do what?”
“The substance is only in one of the glasses. You didn’t look when I made them, I won’t look when you switch them around. After that, I’ll put a monitor on our arms, so we can write down our resting heart rate, BP and oxygenation before, during and after the experiment. After that, we drink, and… see where it goes.”
“Simple enough.” Jayce nods, and offers his other arm up for your monitor.
By the time you’ve set both his and yours up, he looks to be mainly back to normal — but his monitor betrays him. His heart rate and systolic pressure are both bumped for someone his size, his build. When you point it out, Jayce flashes a tight smile with an equally tight chuckle.
“I’m, uh, just a little nervous,” he admits.
You say nothing for yourself. But you’re not doing any better, either.
There’s something sick twisting in your gut at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of Jayce — but that something twists twice as hard at the thought of him panting and straining in his slacks before you, and… god, you need to get a grip.
“Uh, I’ll take… this one,” Jayce decides once you’ve finished preparing the two concoctions, and when you go to pick yours up, he clinks the glasses awkwardly. “Cheers?”
But it’s Jayce.
Fellow scientist, friend.
With a small chuckle, you clink back. “Cheers, Talis.”
—
“As of fifteen minutes into the experiment, I report no noticeable changes in behavior, lucidity or physical sensation. And,” you check your monitor again, “no changes in vitals either. Jayce?”
“I… think I might feel something,” he confesses. “Have been. Since about minute thirteen.”
“Monitor?”
He leans in and offers his arm up to you across the table so you’d have an easier time jotting down his vitals. High bpm, elevated systolic blood pressure.
“Yeah, there’s been a change in your vitals, too. Describe the sensation for me?”
“It’s kind of vague as of now, but it’s a sort of,” Jayce lowers his gaze along with his voice as he says it, “…steadily growing heat, would be the best way to put it. Low in my stomach.”
If you didn’t have the clinicality of it to focus on, fuck, you might have pounced on his shrinking form from across the table.
“Alright. How do you feel it compares to when you’re aroused usually?”
“Uh, different. Normally, um…” it takes him a long second to say it, you notice his brows furrow and his lips clench as he gears up to spit it out. “Normally, for me, arousal starts from my thoughts or… being touched — uh, external stimuli, if we’re being all clinical about it. Meanwhile this feels… less connected to my brain or any stimuli, really, and more like, a strictly physical sensation, I guess? Kind of like hunger or thirst.”
He obediently waits for you to scribble most of it down, and when you look up, you notice his palms are visibly glistening when he reaches up to cradle his forehead.
“I’m noticing some sweating too,” you point out.
“Oh, that, hah,” Jayce chuckles awkwardly and hurries to wipe his hands on his slacks. “Sorry. That usually happens when I’m just a little nervous, I think.”
“I see. Nothing to be sorry for or embarrassed about, Jayce. I’m not here to judge, I’m here to observe.” You jot it down anyway, just in case. And because you’re clinging to professionalism and science with worrying desperation. “Anything else you’re noticing?”
“I think I’ve just started hearing my pulse in my ears, if that’s relevant.”
“Might be, but that’s not… exactly what I was referring to.”
When Jayce stares at you, wide-eyed like a doe in headlights, you glance downward meaningfully. Not that you could see any of it — anything below his chest is under the table from your point of view — but you have a suspicion.
“Yeah, that… that too,” he admits.
“I know it’s a little awkward, but we both went into this knowing it would happen.” You attempt what you hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. There’s no such thing as TMI right now.”
That perhaps wasn’t the best way to put it — Jayce folds his hands in his lap, gaze lowering, as he closes his eyes to gather himself, before he finally says, a little flustered:
“Okay. I’m just… this is— I don’t often talk about my dick like it’s a germ in a petri dish, alright?”
“Try for me,” you say, and it comes out a little more demanding than intended, so you soften the blow: “Unless you want to stop here, of course. You don’t owe me anything. We can quit this experiment anytime if you decide you’ve changed your mind or feel uncomfortable.”
“I don’t,” he decides, surprisingly quick. “I guess I just didn’t… this is more intense than I’d anticipated.”
“More intense how?”
“I’m…” he licks his lips with a shallow inhale, you can hear the way he paws at his own thighs, before he finally looks up at you. “Shit. I’m having a hard time even thinking.”
“Elaborate.”
“That’s a lot to ask from me right now,” he jokes half-heartedly. “But it’s kind of like, when you’re so hungry it makes your mind go… fuzzy and singular.”
Oh?
“Describe what you mean by singular.”
“Like when I’m hungry and I can only think of food.” He swallows thickly, like he’s starving. “Like that, but…”
He chokes on his words before he can get any further, squeezing his eyes shut. There’s a long, winded exhale that leaves his tight lungs before he shoves his face in his hands.
“Jayce?”
“Oh, god,” his small voice whines, muffled behind big hands. “H-how much of this thing did you give me?”
“As much as I give my mice, but, you know, adjusted for an adult human’s weight and metabolism.”
“And what—” A long, girlish whine presses forward when he shifts in his seat just so. “What were the s-side effects?”
It strikes you that that is a question you should have addressed before you put an untested substance in his body. None of the side effects on your rats were noteworthy, but you circle through them in your mind regardless.
“I, uh, there was post-coital fatigue or occasionally loss of consciousness, mainly. Some mice were restless and presented anxious behavior if they were by themselves—“
Oh.
“I think those might have been in pain,” Jayce grits out. Minutely, he curls in on himself.
“What?”
“I’m in pain,” he cries, and you blank. You hadn’t thought this through with the very real option of disaster in mind, because well, there were no significant issues with your mice.
You’ve severely miscalculated the risks.
As your mind starts to whir and turn in the search for an answer, a potential recipe for an antidote, Jayce sinks a little further in his seat, until his forehead nearly grazes the table. You can see the way his frame shivers from the sensation.
“It’s really starting to hurt,” he tries again. “What do I— please?”
“Okay.” You breathe in, standing so fast your chair scrapes the floor, rushing around the table to his side. You risk a glance at the monitor on his arm — worryingly high BP and heart rate — before you undo the velcro and slide it off in a rush. The medical protocol — you can follow that. “Okay. Fuck. Rate your pain?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. One through ten.”
Jayce gives an exasperated sigh.
“Okay. Um, a six? Climbing towards a seven.”
“Describe the nature of the pain? Pulsating, lacerating—“
“My dick fuckin’ hurts, okay?” he cuts in. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my whole life. Is that… descriptive enough?”
Silence settles, filled with both your labored breaths.
You need to act. Fuck your experiment, fuck all of this, Jayce is hurting, you need to take him somewhere you can get another opinion, somewhere that’s equipped to handle him if he loses consciousness—
“Okay, let’s… the hospital isn’t far. Let’s go there.”
“Absolutely not.” Jayce swallows thickly. “You’re putting your credentials, your degree in jeopardy, and I’m, I have a reputation— I can’t go to the ER because I have a serious case of boner.”
Fair.
“Then I can try to think of an antidote, I just— it’s gonna take a while. Can you wait?”
“Do we have another choice?”
And you suppose the answer is not exactly.
You do your best to concoct a potential antidote in your mind as you start to gather what you suspect you might need to brew it. Which is a feat in and of itself, considering the way Jayce is whining with each breath just a few feet away, each exhale coming out tighter, more desperate.
“C-can I…” Jayce peeps from his side of the table. “I need to take my pants off. I won’t be weird about it, I promise, it’s just… god, I think n-not having something rub up against me would help.”
“Yes,” you assure. “You can— absolutely. I won’t look.”
And it’s not like you can, either. From where you’re standing and he’s sitting at the table, you still can’t see much — but you can hear a trembling, relieved sigh along with the rustle of fabric.
“Better?” You ask, feeling much like you’re making a worse version of small talk as you try to think of something, anything, that may work.
“Not much,” is the unfortunate answer. “How’s the antidote coming along?”
You wish you fucking knew.
“Sounds promising,” Jayce snarks at your lack of an answer. There’s a dampened, distant thunk, which you come to realize came from him lowering his forehead against the table. And you’re about to rush to his side to make sure he’s alright, until he whimpers once more and muffles out a meek: “Sorry. That’s not helpful.”
You can’t wait for inspiration to strike with Jayce at stake.
“…Listen. The, uh, the mice. They just… they had to… work it out of their systems, and they never really required an antidote.”
The implication hits him like a brick wall. A brick wall he’d seen coming from miles away, but that seems to do little to dampen the blow. He lifts his head back up off the table to look at you.
“Um.” Jayce hesitates. “Here? Now?”
“Yes — like I said, some mice went unconscious post-orgasm, I think it’s safer to have… supervision. How… do you want to go about it?”
“I’m not sure.”
You need to be pragmatic, you need to keep his best interest at heart now that you’ve quite literally drugged him. Too little, too late, truly, but it’s all you can give.
“I’ll go lock the door. I think it’s best if you lay down on my couch, in case… you know, in case you pass out, after...“
“Yeah, okay.”
Adrenaline has well and truly gripped you as you move towards the door with a pace that screams mimicked calmness, and nothing more. Behind you, Jayce’s undone belt buckle clinks with each step like the bell of a kitten’s collar as he shuffles over to the couch, and you only dare turn to look his way reluctantly once the couch cushions creak and the clinking ceases.
“Oh, that’s better,” he mutters. He is glistening with sweat, his overly tight shirt soaked through at the chest and pits. His gelled hair has softened into sticking to his tacky, dewy forehead, and though his pants are undone, he cups both hands over his crotch shamefully.
“What is?” Your tongue barely unsticks from the roof of your mouth to ask.
“The, um, hah. I’m feeling less… lightheaded.”
Oh. Makes sense.
“I think going from an orthostatic position to a clinostatic one might have evened out your intracranial pressure, considering most of your blood went—”
From the couch, Jayce whines lowly.
“I don’t even know half of those words. Please just… nhh, just get over here.“
And you do, trembling still with the guilt of it all, just as much as you’re keeping a tight, firm (and slipping) leash on your gaze.
As if he’s read your thoughts, Jayce speaks up.
“You can look. If… you want—“
If you want, Christ almighty. Of course you do. You should be thinking of anything else, except for—
Your breath cuts short as you glance down the sweaty, hairy plane of his heaving stomach, to the palms cupped over his own cock as though he’s trying to hide it, or contain it, and desperately failing. A burgundy red, sticky wet tip nudges apart his hands, dripping as furiously as a cunt.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, because a wretched part of you enjoys this. Enjoys seeing him squirming, whining, when you should be using all that brainpower to find a way to fix your own mess. “I’m really sorry, Jayce.”
“I know. Just—“ He shakes his head. “Now what?”
“Go ahead,” you stutter out, followed by a nervous gulp. “Carefully. With a drug like this in your system, I think you should tread lightly. Generally my mice had heightened sensitivity to touch, so…”
You can hear him gulp.
“Okay. Got it. G-gentle.”
You nod.
“Exactly.”
It’s with trembling hands that he unshields the most vulnerable, and currently painful part of himself, and with a girlish, loud gasp that he responds to just his own touch — a two-fingered pinch of the foreskin below the ridge of his tip.
“Oh, god,” Jayce cries and lets go like it burns him to touch. Between his spread legs, his cock throbs. “That, hah, I can’t. M-my hands are too rough, it hurts. Shit, do you have, l-lube, oil, something.”
“No.” Your mouth starts to water before the idea reaches your brain, instinctually hungry for it. “But I could—“
He looks like he’s about to ask for clarification — Jayce is not one to read between the lines with a particular ease even in sobriety — but when you gulp down a mouthful of your spit and lick your lip with the rest, he shivers.
“O-oh. Oh.” His brain visibly catches fire behind his eyes once the implication clicks, his breath comes out in a shallow, almost scared little gasp. Like you’d damn near proposed eating him whole instead of servicing him. “Fuck. Okay?”
But his cock twitches as if to nod in agreement as you inch closer, and shuffle to your knees between his legs on the couch.
You cradle his dewy hips in your palms like he’s the most fragile little thing instead of a heaving, desperate mountain of muscle, and go through the difficult feat of not looking at his cock in favor of his wide, baby deer eyes.
“Is this okay, Jayce?”
“No,” he blurts. Your heart sinks. “Jesus, sort of. I d-don't know what I was even thinking. I should’ve— God, I could have asked you out for dinner. There are, l-like, a billion other ways to—“
He interrupts himself with a gulp.
Oh.
“…to what?”
Jayce Talis, a man wide enough to rival a door frame, shrinks to something so small and pathetic it’s unrecognizable. He grinds his teeth, eyes lidded beneath long, pretty lashes, before he lets the confession out in an exhale, like he wants to rid himself of it and crawl away.
“…to get your attention.”
“Oh, Jayce.” It’s with a trembling hand that you coax his chin up to face you, with a trembling thumb that you press over his raw-bitten lip. “Come here.” And it’s with trembling lungs that you kiss him.
He moans from that alone. A high and hurt sound, but he presses himself up into it and into you. Licks and hums and sucks at you like you’re feeding him delicacies, follows you with the same open mouthed kiss even as you pull away.
“Touch me,” he gasps after you part. His mind is a whirlwind, his wide-blown pupils darting from the slick of your lips to your eyes; Jayce hiccups with something that sounds almost like a sob as his lids squeeze shut. On either side of your waist, his knees jump. “Fuck, I need you s-so bad it hurts…“
“Sweet thing.” A desperate, puppydog nuzzle into the cup of your hand when you slide from holding his chin to cradling his stubbled cheek. You pat him gently, seeking to soothe, and he lets you. Kisses into your palm when you stroke his cheek, looks at you through long, dark lashes. “It’s okay. Gonna take care of you.”
“Hah.” Jayce’s exhale leaves him in a tremble that squeaks out of him on his last mouthful of air. Between his legs, you’ve cupped a hand over his own. Though he can’t even feel it on his cock, his hips still fuck into his palm at the mere notion of you, there.
“I’ve got you,” You coo, prodding at the soft, tender flesh between his fingers.
He yields. Jayce always does, when it comes to you. He’s fever-hot between his hips, stubby and thick with blood. Veins bulge across the expanse of his lower stomach, converging to the root of his pulsing erection. He’s glistening all the way from blood-purpled crown to full balls, smeared in his own slick. He’s swollen like a bruise, and dripping like an open wound.
Jayce wheezes like he’s been punched when you cradle the heft of him, sac and all, in a gentle, relievingly cold hand. You can hear his teeth gnashing next to your ear, thighs squeezing around you. He whimpers when he palpably pulses in your palm like his cock has a mind of its own, drooling sticky and abundant where the heel of your palm seams to your wrist.
His neck is fragrant with equal parts musk and the salt of fresh sweat, not a single note of his rich scent synthetic. Something about it is markedly different — it’s less tangy and more intoxicating, as though he’s dripping with nectar designed to make you want to sink your teeth into him.
“God, you smell good.” Your voice snuffs out into his neck, sends him vibrating.
“I’m not,” Jayce chokes on his own words, “w-wearing any fragrance.”
“Humans aren’t… we’re not receptive to pheromones, but—“ you take another indulgent whiff of him, “fuuuck. This is probably as close as it gets. Just sniffing you makes me feel… hungry, almost. Hungry for you.”
The implication clicks.
“Hah. Mh-maybe I’m s-sweating it out?” Jayce hazards. “The aphrodisiac.”
That would track. Could track. You have to wrangle down the scientist’s urge to grab a swab and a vial for a sample of his sweat. Lapping it up will have to do — and fuck, does it. There’s not a single thing about the way you lick at his neck that is methodical — it’s a haphazard, desperate, canine impulse to lap up all you can get of that dizzying, potent concoction that is half Jayce and half distilled sex. It’s cloying and overwhelming on your tongue like pure honey, it feels as though it’s lancing itself straight through the mucosa of your mouth and nose into your rushing, rabid bloodstream.
“Yeah,” you blurt dumbly. “I think… yeah. I think you might be.”
At that, Jayce lets out a disbelieving chuckle that’s almost as sweet as him.
You’re gonna lick him clean after you’re done with him. But right now, no matter how much everything in your brain screams to suck the drug off his skin, he needs tending to. He’s aching in your palm, you can practically feel it radiating off his cock with the heat.
Working your way down is a quick affair, aided by the fact that his damp shirt covers him like cling film does leftovers — just barely, but enough to keep you from him regardless. It’s only at the bottom of his shirt, somewhere around the middle of his hipbones, that you find skin again. Like water in a desert.
You drink it up, licking and sucking at the valleys between the engorged veins that run down his pelvis, until Jayce all but squirms with need.
“Please,” he gasps out. His cock nudges the notch of your collarbone, sticky on your skin. “Please, please, please…”
“Shh, I know, baby.” It slips out before you can think on it, your tongue feels soft and drunk, but it’s exactly what he needs to hear. His cock drools so furiously that droplets start leaking off your collarbone and into your shirt like it’s a broken faucet.
“‘M close,” Jayce cries, “I’m sorry.”
God, like that’s even a thing to be sorry for.
“Don’t hold back when you get there, okay?” A kiss to the root of his hard-on, his hips cradled in your hands. A kiss to the side of it. The skin of his cock is feverish, buttery smooth, straining with each pulse. “Let it happen.”
The fat crown of his cock fits like a puzzle piece on your curled tongue. Lodges between it and your palate like it’d been made to. Jayce doubles over at the first suckle you grace him with, gasping like you’ve stabbed him, fumbling for your hand to intertwine and squeeze. The one he isn’t holding slides between his legs to fondle his smooth sac between your fingers. It’s when your lips kiss the base and you swallow, that you feel his balls drawing up tight, and his cock bursting with seed.
“Oh, god,” he sobs, a delirious mixture of relief and hurt while his thighs clench around your head and cock spurts into your mouth. It’s abundant, a solid mouthful pumps into your mouth within the first few seconds. Though you guzzle it so greedily you must hold your breath to keep up, it isn’t enough.
His cum dribbles around your lips even as you desperately drink all he gives you, his cock pulses and jerks and all but feeds you with his cum. You wonder, distantly, half-drunk on it, how it’s even remotely physically possible, to be leaking out this much.
“Fuck, it’s not—!” Jayce’s legs have gone from clenching around you to thrashing and twitching on either side of you like he’s a bug turned wrong side up; he thrashes like his orgasm’s squashing him. “Ah, s-stop,” he pleads his own body, grabbing for the root of his cock as though he might choke down the stream of his own cum. His voice cracks with a wet, broken sob. “Please, stop, p-please—!”
He’s well past comprehensible thoughts after his next sob. All he manages are warbled, animal sounds, whimpering through his nose and hissing once his cock finally goes from gushing to a trickle that’s comfortable to nurse on, easy to keep up with. The post-orgasm hurt finds him suddenly, you don’t feel quite ready to stop tonguing and suckling on him when he pushes at the crown of your head in a limp, desperate plea. His stomach is visibly pulsing under the palm of your hand with the inertia of his brutal orgasm, you hold him down, steady.
When you pull away to look at him, at his rigid cock, swinging from the momentum of sliding from your mouth and oozing still, something within you cries at the mere notion of seeing it wasted.
“Holy shit, it’s still g-going,” Jayce grits out.
“Yes. Looks to me,” you stop for a desperate breath, “like you’re not done, Jayce.”
“W-wait, wait,” he warbles, broken and damn near scared for his life.
He curls up like a wounded animal when you suck him back into your mouth, knees folding until he can rest his head against one, staring down at you in drugged, delighted horror.
You shove both hands into the soft underbelly of his bent knees, and you keep him there, folded up as though he’s the one to be bred.
He cries for it the same way, like a bitch in heat, beyond words. All tender, feral little noises, he whines and whines and whines, pawing at his own legs, then arching his tits as he’s reaching up to anchor himself to the couch like you’re plowing him into it, instead of draining him a second time. When you let go of one of his knees to bring a thumb to his swollen taint and rub it like a clit, he’s done in.
Jayce cries; the genuine, snotty kind. He’s damp with his tears, sobbing and sniffling and trembling all over, from head to spine to feet, and he comes so violently, it sounds like death.
This time around, his cum is not so abundant. Not so thick and cloying; it’s a runny mess that’s easier to drink, salty like his tears, as though he’s crying with his cock, too. You suck on him until he’s truly gone dry, stroking from asshole to balls on his taint as though you’re trying to squeeze all you can out of him. His legs still kick out into thin air every once in a few suckles, as though he might try to get away, but it’s all futile. You decide when it’s over, and that is only once his cock starts to go limp on your tongue, when you’ve stopped tasting fresh salt. When you pull away, a gossamer string connects you to his tip in one final, long-distance kiss.
He’s breathing like he’s run a marathon. Like he’s on the tail end of bleeding out. When his eyes flutter open just barely enough to lock you into his vision for a moment, he goes cross-eyed the next, and it’s lights out in his overwhelmed mind.
“Jayce?”
Every part of him is lax, pliable, boneless, as though you’ve pulled him apart so far that he’s gone unstrung like a puppet. By the time you have the mind to climb up his body and press your ear to his chest to make sure he’s still breathing, he stirs with a hurt groan.
“Hoooly shit,” Jayce slurs. Clumsily, he paws at your back, pulling you up until he has the space to burrow under your chin.
“Okay. There you are.” You hold him steady right where he is, cradling him close and gentle while he pieces himself back together. His ribs expand against you with every brutal breath, his spine rattles with a shiver. “You scared me for a second.”
His breath mingles with a dry, hollow gulp, he coughs just barely.
“Jesus,” he wheezes, “that— whoa. Hah. It felt like my brain blew a fuse. I th-thought I fuckin’ died.”
“Looked like it, too.” You share an exhilarated chuckle with him.
“Did I… was I out?”
“Just a few seconds. Syncope.”
“Oh. I’m sorry if I,” he wheezes again, voice reverberating hot into the side of your throat, “I usually… not for that long, not that much, it was… I’ve never…”
“It’s alright,” you assure. A pat between his shoulders that has him nudging closer. “I figured. Don’t worry, you were… perfect.”
Between lidded lashes, Jayce looks at you with a gaze so sweet it squeezes at your heart. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You stroke his damp cheek and kiss the top of his head. “How are you feeling, Jayce?”
He draws a fortifying breath, letting it out in a long, winded sigh.
“Lightheaded still,” he confesses. “But… better. Definitely. Uh… Thank you. For…” he clears his throat awkwardly, “for everything.”
That doesn’t sit right.
“Jayce, you let me test a highly unsafe drug on you and passed out. You definitely shouldn’t be thanking me.”
One of his arms wraps around you, and he cuddles closer like an enamored little animal. The both of you are sticky all over. You don’t give a single shit, because you have Jayce Talis, balls drained, heart eyes, voice shaking, in your arms.
“I’m… mmmh, definitely not mad, though.” He chuckles. “This was the best orgasm I’ve ever had. The best blowjob, too.” You can hear his voice turn smug while he takes a short break as if to ponder what he tells you next. “Yeah, I’d say this is now in my top three ranking of illegal experiments I was a part of.”
“Oh my god. Top three? What are you and Viktor getting up to in your lab?”
“Listen.” He shrugs. “Orgasms just… hah, can’t hold a candle to the pleasure of having a hypothesis proven right.”
You roll your eyes. “Nerd.”
“Yeah, speaking of um, that,” Jayce traces the lazy brush of his lips up the column of your neck, “what I’m thinking, is,” a kiss to the angle of your jaw, “maybe you could really use some more data?”
Oh, he’s insatiable.
“Hmm. lf you’re offering.” Your smile slots into his own, your words kiss his lips before they make it to his ears, “I think I’d benefit from a demonstration of your usual… um, process, before any more trials with the drug involved, though.”
At your response, he chuckles smugly.
“Yeah, see? Takes a nerd to know one.”
He licks between your lips like a kitten, like the first lap at sugary candy, while his hand finds your own. You expect a squeeze, an interlacing of fingers, but the rough parts of his palm cup over your knuckles.
“I don’t think I could walk you through my usual process right now, unfortunately.” Jayce guides your hand back to his stomach. At your fingertips, his cock strains. Again. “Because it looks like I’m definitely down for another drugged trial run.”
“Well.” You laugh through your nose, and cup his erection bodily, boldly. Though he’s thick and ready, his cock is not as swollen as before. Sticky with dried spit and fresh cum, Jayce nudges himself into your palm with a stifled whine that turns full-lunged when you well and truly grasp him. “I’m not about to complain about an opportunity for extra data acquisition.”
“A-as for, the f-frame of reference you wanted,” he begins, even as you begin to stroke him in earnest. “I don’t know the half life of this thing, but, Sunday? W-would Sunday work? We could— hah, uhm, dinner. Before that.”
You twist your grip around his tacky cockhead, and Jayce wails with bliss.
“Yeah, I can definitely do Sunday.” You kiss his lips again. “It’ll be my treat.”
Between desperate little whimpers, Jayce manages a smile so boyish it radiates.
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you're sprawled out in bed, sheets tangled around your legs, the soft hum of your phone screen lighting up your face as you scroll through endless feeds. the room is dim, just the faint blue light from your device casting shadows across the walls. denji lies beside you, his body tense and fidgety, the mattress dipping under his weight. he's been like this all evening—restless, his breaths coming in short, frustrated huffs.
you feel his hand brush against your thigh first, tentative at the start, like he's testing the waters. his fingers linger there, warm and calloused from all those fights, tracing small circles on your skin. you ignore it, eyes glued to your phone, but he doesn't stop. instead, he shifts closer, his chest pressing against your side, the heat of him radiating through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.
"hey," he whispers, voice rough and low, laced with that desperate edge he's been carrying for weeks. "you gonna put that thing down or what?"
you don't respond, thumb swiping to the next post, but a small smile tugs at your lips. denji groans, rolling onto his side to face you fully. his hand slides higher up your thigh, squeezing gently, his palm rough against the smoothness of your bare leg. he's hard already—you can see the bulge straining against his boxers, the outline clear in the low light. almost a month without release has left him wound tight, every muscle in his body screaming for friction.
"please," he mutters, nuzzling into your shoulder, his lips grazing your neck. "it's been forever. i can't take it anymore. just… touch me. anything."
his words send a thrill through you, but you keep scrolling, pretending to be absorbed. denji's hand moves bolder now, slipping under the hem of your shorts, fingers brushing the edge of your panties. he pauses there, waiting for permission, his breath hot against your ear.
"come on," he begs, voice cracking a little. "you know how bad i need it. my dick's aching. feels like it's gonna burst. just stroke it for me? wrap your hand around it?"
you shift slightly, not enough to encourage him, but enough to make him think there's hope. he takes it as a sign, his fingers dipping lower, pressing against the fabric between your legs. you feel the warmth of his touch, the way he rubs slow circles, trying to coax a reaction from you.
"fuck, you're wet already," he says, surprise mixing with hunger in his tone. "see? you want it too. let me fuck you. please, i'll do it however you want. hard, slow, whatever. just let me inside you."
his free hand grabs your wrist now, trying to pull your phone away, but you hold firm, locking the screen with your thumb. denji whines—actually whines—like a puppy denied a treat. he presses his hips forward, grinding his erection against your thigh, the thin barrier of cloth doing nothing to hide how thick and throbbing he is.
"you're killing me," he pants, his mouth latching onto your collarbone, sucking lightly. "twenty somethin' days. no jerking off, no nothing. and you're just lying there, looking so hot with your legs spread like that. touch my dick. please. i need your hand."
you finally glance down at him, his messy blond hair falling into his eyes, face flushed and desperate. his pupils are blown wide, lips parted as he stares at you like you're the only thing that can save him. he reaches down, palming himself through his boxers, a low moan escaping as he squeezes.
"see? it's leaking already. cum soaking through. if you don't help, i'm gonna lose it. begging you… fuck, just let me bust. use your mouth if you want. suck it. i'll beg nicer."
his words tumble out faster now, a stream of pleas as he rocks against your leg. you feel the damp spot forming on your skin from his tip, the way his shaft pulses with every grind. denji's hand slips fully into your shorts this time, fingers pushing your panties aside to stroke your folds directly. he circles your clit with his thumb, rough but eager, dipping a finger inside you to feel how slick you are.
"you're dripping," he groans, pumping his finger slowly. "for me. so let me have you. i wanna fuck that pussy. stretch it out with my dick. pound into you until we both cum. please, baby. i'm dying here."
you bite your lip, fighting the urge to drop the phone entirely, but the power of making him beg like this is too intoxicating. denji senses your hesitation and doubles down, his mouth trailing kisses down your arm, nipping at your wrist still clutching the device.
"put it down," he urges, voice husky. "i'll make it so good. lick your clit while i finger you. or bend you over and fuck you from behind. ass up, face down. whatever you say. just… touch me first. grip my dick and jerk it. feel how hard it is for you."
he guides your free hand toward his crotch, pressing your palm against the bulge. you let it rest there for a second, feeling the heat, the twitch under your touch. denji thrusts up into your hand, a strangled moan ripping from his throat.
"yes, like that. more. squeeze it. stroke me off. i haven't felt your hand in so long. fuck, it's throbbing. gonna cum so much when you let me."
his desperation peaks, body trembling as he humps your hand shamelessly. fingers still working between your legs, he adds a second digit, curling them inside you, thumb flicking your clit in rhythm with his pleas.
"imagine it," he whispers, breath ragged. "me sliding in deep. filling you up. no condom, just raw. pumping until i shoot inside. begging you to let me breed you. please… i can't hold out. touch me properly. fuck me. anything."
you finally set the phone aside, the screen going dark as you turn to him. denji's eyes light up, a grin breaking through the frustration, but he doesn't stop begging—not yet.
"thank fuck," he breathes, yanking his boxers down to free his cock. it springs out, thick and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum. he grabs your hand again, wrapping your fingers around the shaft, guiding you to pump him slowly. "yeah, just like that. tight grip. up and down. faster."
his hips buck into your fist, skin slapping softly against your palm. you twist your wrist on the upstroke, thumbing the slit to spread the slickness, and denji throws his head back, moaning loud and unfiltered.
"shit, yes. don't stop. but i want more. want to fuck you now. spread your legs for me. let me push in. feel that pussy clench around my dick."
you tease him further, slowing your strokes, and he whimpers, leaning in to kiss you messily, tongue shoving into your mouth as he grinds against your hand.
"please," he gasps against your lips. "i'm so close already. one month of blue balls. ride me. bounce on my cock. milk me dry. i'll cum buckets for you."
unable to resist anymore, you push him onto his back, straddling his hips. denji's hands fly to your waist, pulling you down as you line him up. the tip nudges your entrance, slick and ready, and he thrusts up impatiently.
"in," he demands, voice breaking. "fuck me. now."
you sink down slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching you wide. denji's eyes roll back, a guttural groan escaping as you bottom out, your ass resting against his thighs. he fills you completely, pulsing inside your walls.
"holy shit," he pants, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "so tight. move. ride me hard."
you start rolling your hips, lifting and dropping, the wet sounds of your bodies connecting filling the room. denji meets every thrust, bucking up to bury himself deeper, his balls slapping against you.
"faster," he begs, even now. "pound it. make me cum inside you. fuck, yes—clench like that. gonna fill this pussy."
his pace turns frantic, hands roaming to squeeze your breasts, pinching your nipples as you bounce on him. sweat slicks your skin, the bed creaking under the force. denji's moans grow louder, incoherent pleas mixing with curses.
"don't stop. almost there. cum with me. squeeze my dick. yeah—fuck!"
he slams up one last time, cock twitching as he erupts, hot spurts of cum flooding you deep. the sensation tips you over, your own orgasm crashing through, walls fluttering around him as you cry out.
denji holds you there, still thrusting shallowly to ride out the waves, his face buried in your neck. "best… fucking… release," he mumbles, spent and satisfied, but already his hands start wandering again.
thinking about ulquiorra who’s just so fascinated with how human you are. every microscopic twitch in your face conveys an emotion, every single one with its own cause and effect inside you mind.
he felt something akin to obsession as his eyes gazed into yours, watching how your pupils almost swallowed the color of your eyes as he gives you hope of something, anything that would give you the ‘joy’ you speak of. then feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand as he crushed the hope, fixating on the dark center of your eye shrinking back to size.
he wants to know everything. which is why he spends hours teasing you. with his hands, with his mouth, with his body. just to see what reaction you have when he bites your neck, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to sting. he wanted to hear the noise you made when he dragged his tongue up your thighs again.
he’d kill to see the face when he slid his cock into you for the first time again. he’d kill to hear the noise, to know what caused it. why it made you feel like that, why it made him feel like that. his thoughts get clouded with it, the way your lips part to let out a moan, the way your toes curled in pleasure, the way your eyes rolled back until he could only see the whites. it felt like someone took control of his body and the only command given was “move.”
he doesn’t realize how bad it’s gotten until he hears himself. how he pants softly into your neck, slowly creeping in volume until they’re needy groans. he couldn’t see it himself but he could feel his face moving, the twitch of his eyebrow, the same parting of his lips.
ulquiorra, who’s so fascinated with just how human he gets while inside you.
gameshow voice: is it gay subtext or are the writers just so catastrophically bad at writing female characters that the only relationships in the entire story that feel human are the ones between the men.
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